


Dance Into My Heart

by therogueheart



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), marvel cast - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Ballerinos, Ballet School AU, Bottom Tom Holland, Clothes tearing, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Dom/sub Undertones, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Light Dom/sub, M/M, NFF, NSFW, Prima Ballerino Robert, Prima Ballerino Tom, Prima Ballerinos, Robert in Spandex, Sassy RDJ, Sebastian "Pony" Stan, Sebastian and Chris are Adorable, Size Kink, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Dancing, Smut, Soft!Tom, Tom In Leg-Warmers, Tom Wears a Leotard, Top Robert Downey Jr., ballet school, cute Tom, meet cute, snarky RDJ
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:42:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22071976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therogueheart/pseuds/therogueheart
Summary: Robert is a star-riddled name in the ballet community, a prima ballerino like other in his time. Tom Holland is a rising star, up-and-coming, hot on his heels. Chris is the ballet director that throws them together for the most electric, sensual partnership of the year.
Relationships: Chris Evans/Sebastian Stan, Robert Downey Jr./Tom Holland
Comments: 4
Kudos: 119





	1. Chapter 1

Robert had first heard of Tom Holland when he was gorging himself on wine and glazed fruits, laughing with his colleagues and friends about some reminisced story of humour. Their table was one of high honour, central to the floor and surrounded by others of similar status, and the words reached his ears from a table of _prima ballerina_ ’s to their left, voices flush with wine and loud to his senses.

“Did you see the boy, Aly? So _cute_! He is so small, but he moves like the water already. I am glad for my age and to be female; he will be stealing the stage soon enough”.

“You’re just soft, Lola. He’s _ten_ ; we will be old and reduced to back-dancers and teachers by the time anything comes of him. _If_ anything comes of him. Our world is more cut-throat than even a butcher house”.

It intrigued him, but only in the general way that life and its instances did. Talk of young dancers was aplenty and everyone believed their little cousin or their younger sibling had the promise of a _premier ballerino_. By the time he donned his coat and staggered for his awaiting car, still flushed with laughter and clinging to Chris, the name was forgotten.

But it had risen like a ghost several times after, in the coming years. Like Robert himself the boy was a prodigy, talented and charismatic in a way that set him apart in a world so full of prospects. Your dancing meant nothing if you did it with the blank face of a corpse.

Robert had never seen the boy dance personally, but somewhere after his twenty-fifth birthday, when the boy was fifteen and blooming into a reputation, Chris shoved a phone under his nose and demanded he watched the footage.It was crisp, taken on a professional camera and was of a brightly lit studio, the reflection of the tripod and its monitoring figure noticeable in the mirrored walls.

Tom Holland danced in a way not unlike what people described of Robert. Fluid, passionate, emotive, _perfect_. It was enough to make Robert focus, to watch the elegant way the boy moved from wall to wall, feeling as well as hearing the music. And then it ended, and Robert’s life continued with nothing more than a modicum of respect for the boy chiselled into place.

Until now.

Robert had worked every day since the age of two to carve this place for himself in his chosen world. He had given broken bones, sleepless nights and every shred of his dedication to this career. It had rewarded him in kind; _premier ballerino_ roles in every offer since the age of twenty and even a teaching role at the American School of Ballet; a prestigious and reputable educational dance facility where none other than his own friend now sat on the Board.

It was how the situation - and Tom’s name - had arisen. Robert could deny Chris nothing and only arched a brow when he heard about Chris’ plans for his latest performance. Robert was fresh back from Rome and a week-long performance of _The Snow Prince_ and despite the desperate call for rest, was eager to learn of his next routine.

“ _The Love Born of Summer_? You soppy fuck” Robert remarked, scanning the title of the file that Chris slid across the table to him. He sat back, arching a brow at his friend, who looked abashed. Good. Chris was a terrible romantic, for all his crappy history with lovers. Performances like _Giselle_ and the god-awful _Nutcracker_ were Chris’ favourites.

Robert did quite fine with romantic performances. Ballet was not an individual art, and the close proximity and the intimacy that came with dancing was easy to Robert. It was part of why he was so good at what he did. The fact that most of Chris’ troupe were attractive was simply an easy bonus.

Robert considered it as he stroked at the trimmed lines of his stubble, gaze sliding from Chris to the many art pieces that lined the walls of the office space. _The Love Born of Summer_ was a largely romantic piece; based loosely on several other classics. As per standard, two star-crossed lovers endure a perilous and heartfelt journey into a romantic end.

“The routine isn’t all that different to the first time you performed it. I’ve worked out a few hitches here and there, and I’ve made it more…Dramatic. Intimate. Y’know, since you’re so fond of _dancing like you’re fucking_ ” Chris sighed, as though the words pained him despite their amused lilt. Robert could not argue his own statement. After all, what was ballet if not a sensual thing?

And what was romance, if not a sexual thing? At least for him.

“And pray tell, darling. Who am I dance-fucking this time, hm? Is it you and your biceps? I have _so_ missed them around my thighs” Robert purred, eliciting a delightful blush that started at Chris’ ears and dipped all the way beneath the alarmingly low V of his shirt. Chris and Robert didn’t dance together half as often as they used to, with their new responsibilities, but Chris was undoubtedly one of Robert’s favourite dance partners.

Robert oft missed their time together, and here and there a brief touch of longing for their previous intimacy would linger. But Chris’ husband Sebastian was downright delightful and whilst they had their chemistry together, Robert knew that himself and Chris were better suited to a platonic love, couple-y though they might act.

Robert was a lavish lover and he ate life like a sweet dessert, forever roaming in search of new tastes and new experiences. Insatiable, no matter how ‘full’ he felt of his memories. ‘ _You live life like a dying man’_ Chris had once told him, laying naked together in bed in Paris, the rush of their evening performance now a low ember in their veins.

“Actually…And this is the part I expected the real argument to happen…I’m bringing in someone new” Chris breathed out, tentative and braced. Robert’s brow hitched higher in alarm. Chris was a creature of comfort and familiarity. _New_ was not something he delighted in. It was part of why they worked better as friends.

“Pending, of course, your approval. He is my primary choice, but I do have a second prospect. My first pick, however…He’s good. Good enough that he just got accepted as a full time student here. He comes with recommendations from Paris and Greece. Young, but…He reminds me of you”. The last part was said almost wistfully, and Robert was overcome with the urge to flick him between the eyes and say _I’m not dead yet, you moron_.

“My. Your face is shoved so far into this new one’s ass I almost forgot you prefer to bottom” Robert sighed, rising gracefully to his feet and aiming for the coffee maker. He could feel the heat of Chris’ blush from across the room. During their time together they had shared the positions, neither too strict on preference. With Sebastian, however, Chris was exclusively the bottom. Robert had asked about it once, seated on their couch with Jeremy snug between his thighs and half-snoring, the group drunk on dark red and bourbon.

Sebastian had simply smiled slyly and lounged back, thighs falling apart to reveal the sizeable bulge at his pelvis. Robert had mocked and coaxed and eventually Sebastian had stood, striding over and unbuckling his belt to push Robert’s cheek to the firm flesh there, howling with laughter at his sputtering. Chris had been the same colour as the wine by the time his boyfriend had returned to his seat, and Sebastian had forever been nicknamed _Pony_ in honour of the beast between his legs.

“Spit out the name, then” Robert coaxed, before Chris could lecture him on biding his tongue. It was wasted breath anyway; Robert’s silver tongue and sense of humour was practically the baseline of his entire personality.

“Tom Holland” Chris replied, voice distant as he opened the file and begun to pour over it, already back to business. It was why Chris was on the Board and Robert was merely an honorary teacher. Robert nearly poured the coffee over his hand and not into his cup at the name, frowning as he turned.

“Isn’t he like…Fifteen?” He questioned, head tilting as he lifted the hot liquid to his lips with a soft sound of approval. He liked his coffee as black as his sins, with just enough sugar to chase away the bitter taste. Chris looked up, appearing perplexed.

“He’s eighteen. He’s ten years your minor” Chris pointed out, and Robert wrinkled his nose. He was no stranger to working with children; some as young as aged six. But such a young partner for a romantic piece? It settled oddly on his bones and he cocked his head further. His youngest partner for a romantic piece had been twenty-three, a snarky Russian girl who danced like it was a fight to the death.

“He’s young” Chris agreed, leaning back and crossing his arms thoughtfully. “But hes _good_ , Tony. When I said he reminds me of you…This boy went to Greece at fourteen with the _Troupe de Ballet_. He’s toured America at sixteen. I’ve seen him dance in person. It’s…An _art_. Truly. I know he’s young, but his style…He’s made for it. And you two? Together? It would be iconic. An undeniably _beautiful_ act”.

Chris had that look in his eye, as though he were seeing the answer to life. It quelled any argument that Robert might have had, little though it was. Chris was so passionate about his work, about ballet. And when he set his respects to a certain person; Robert was all but helpless to agree. And so he did, sipping his coffee and looking thoughtful for a moment.

“I will watch him dance. If I feel like we will work…We will work” he agreed, lifting his coffee up and to safety when Chris rushed him for a hug, tight and loving. The force of it lifted Robert to his toes and he wrapped an arm low at Chris’ waist for balance, thumb stroking the corded muscle that lay over his hip.

“The things I do for you” he sighed, as though put upon, but his smile was too broad too be contained.

Tom Holland arrived the following Monday, the hallways of the school alive with vibrant speculation and chatter about the new-comer. _‘He’s prettier than any girl_ ’ he heard one boy say, striding down the hallway with a friend. ‘ _I’ve heard that he’s going to be world-famous soon, and that he’s almost as good as Sir Robert_ ’ squealed a girl, lacing her pumps so tight that his own ankle twinged in sympathy.

Robert had elected not to research the boy, in order to have a fresh opinion. He vaguely recalled the odd snippets he had seen. From what he remembered the boy was rather small, but lithe. Dark hair. Brown, perhaps. Or a dirty blonde? He remembered elegance and passion in his movements, but no specific details.

He had commanded that the boy perform in room A:13, a very specific location, for it was conjoined to a secret viewing room. Robert had converted it himself, utilising an old storeroom and its neighbouring closet to create a double-mirrored set up that allowed for secret observation. Robert liked to watch how people moved when they were unaware they were being watched.

Chris had admitted the boy had no idea that he was doing a performance yet, or that he was working with Robert. _Potentially_ , Robert had reminded him. He had slipped inside the hidden room whilst Chris had gone to fetch the kid, and was scrolling mindlessly through his phone when he heard the door snick open, the echoing footfalls in the studio.

He looked up.

The boy was slender, somewhere between tall and short. It was hard to tell, really, when his only comparison was how he looked besides Chris, who towered above almost every man. Lithe and with a practised grace. He stepped lightly, twirling this way and that as he looked around the room. Robert tried not to look, really, but it was impossible to miss the slender calves, the supple thighs. The ass that curved out, lavish and thick, like a girls’.

And his face. Even from afar, Robert could see the beauty. The smooth cheeks and the browbone. The line of his jaw and the milkiness of his skin, all topped with a thick, generous mop of neatly brushed curls. The boy was talking to Chris, too quiet to hear, but pleasant, by the look on Chris’ face. After a short conversation, Chris stepped away, back through the doors, and the boy was alone.

Chris entered besides Robert as the boy sunk to the floor, liquid in his fluidity. He begun to stretch his legs, and Robert was loathe to turn his gaze away. “I told him to practise alone, first. That I would come back for him in fifteen minutes”. Wise, Robert had to admit. Without prompting, many students left alone would merely pick a perch and play games on their phones. Tom, however….

Tom folded himself in a perfect half, cheek resting on the floor, toes in a pointe. He must’ve done some stretching beforehand, because the flexibility was flawless, easy. It was all Robert could do to turn back, to nod approvingly at Chris. “He seems dedicated” he remarked, leaning against the wall-hold as he watched.

“I’d dare say as much as you” Chris sent back, and Robert gave a wry smile. You got nowhere without dedication, in this profession. Nowhere without blood, sweat and tears. Robert himself had cracked bones and torn skin to show for his skill. He looked back to Tom, who was stood now, using a handrail to balance on one set of toes, the other leg stretched in a perfect vertical to his side. Robert almost lost his breath.

The boy stretched for ten of the fifteen minutes, moving around the studio as easy as breathing, as fluid as water. He was frighteningly flexible, and agile to boot. They watched in silence for the most part, bar the odd murmur of approval from Chris. And then the boy shifted, shedding the tiny, zip-up hoodie that he’d been wearing. It revealed a pale, pink bodysuit, the light grey, tiny shorts that stretched for dear life over..

Robert cleared his throat, and watched as the boy pulled a phone from the hoodie, scrolling quickly. It turned out not be a break, however, but a search for music. The piece was some classical rendition of a pop song, though Robert couldn’t place it. The boy re-set it, and the music paused for a time, long enough for Tom to take position in the middle of the room.

Bowed, of sorts. One leg stretched out behind, arms extended to the side, body arched elegantly, head ducked. He paused there, breathing, taut. And then the music begun and Tom let himself unfold like a spring flower. It amazed Robert, how easily the boy captured attention and compliment. The world was stuffed full of dancers. The list of ballet names endless and overflowing. To stand out was near impossible. These days it relied on where you performed and whom you knew. What strings you could pull.

And yet.

Tom moved as they his body belonged to the music, floating through the room like sound. Robert found himself enthralled, lost as Tom danced. Closer, in snaking patterns. The closer he got, the prettier he became, Robert realised with a sinking lament. Far away beauty became undeniable, clearer. Wide eyes and thick lashes that framed them like kohl. A slender body, lithe with sleek muscle.

Closer, he danced. Spinning in pirouettes and transitioning to graceful tour en l'airs, spine straight and landing with impeccable balance. The boy’s slow, seductive extension into an arabesque left Robert gripping for purchase, hand closing around a riding crop nearby. They were common use in ballet, like spirit meters to a builder.

Chris cast him a sidelong glance, but remained silent.

Closer, closer. The boy sped up as he danced, in time to the crescendo of the music, whipping from position to position, movement to movement. Robert realised belatedly that the boy was heading straight for them, a series of spins and extensions bringing him to them.

The boy twisted gracefully, hitting the railing with perfectly timed momentum grasping the bar with both hands. It brought him face to face with the double sided mirror and the boy paused there, panting for breath with wide, curious eyes. As the boy heaved for air he slowly, slowly tipped his head, staring unknowingly into Robert’s eyes.

Then a trembling hand reached up, slow and cautious, fingertips dancing briefly against the glass, as though touching Robert’s face from the other side. And then he was gone, back to the middle of the room.

Robert tipped his head, watching the boy fall to rest, and thwacked the crop against his calf, nodding once. “I will take him” he announced, turning away from the mirrored wall. Chris hastened to slide past him, striding ahead of him through the corridor to the studio entrance, where he pushed through. The boy was standing, stretching out a leg slowly in a perfect, 180 penché.

“I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting, Tom. I just had to-” Chris’ voice was cut off by Tom’s startled gasp. Robert could see his eyes were brown, now. Light and like honey. He was devastatingly pretty up close and in person, eyes blown wide and his mouth open, dark pink lips in a pretty, perfect circle.

The boy pitched forwards, balance shot and arms flailing. Robert, already halfway through the door, beat Chris to lunging forwards. He fell to his knees, sliding across the polished floor and wrapping his arms around Tom’s torso as the boy came down. He was vaguely aware that this was some sort of Dirty Dancing shit, but arms closing around a slender, trim waist, he couldn’t care.

The boys palms hit the floor and he went lax in Robert’s grip, head tipping back to look up at him in astonishment. ‘ _Pretty’_ Robert could only think, gazing back at him. He let the boy go slowly, allowing him to slide off his thigh and onto the cool floor. Above them Chris stood gaping, clearly unsure of where to continue.

“You’re - _Oh my god_. Why are you - You’re _Robert Downey Jr”_ the boy mewled, looking equally delighted and distressed. Robert arched a brow, slow and sarcastic as he shifted, elegantly switching his legs to the side. He became vaguely aware of Chris joining them in sitting on the floor, and spared a moment to be amused by the scenario.

“If we’re going to be working together, you should pay heed to your balance. I’m too old for dramatic Swayze style slides, these days” he quipped, and took pleasure in the way the boy fumbled again, seemingly at a loss for words. He was used to the odd starstruck fan, the whispers and the excitement of the younger dancers. The awe. But this? Losing in ability to simply move in his presence?

“Working…?” The boy wheezed, moving from hands and knees to sit cross-legged before him, fingers wringing nervously in his lap. It was then that Chris got his swing back, casting Robert an accusing glance, as though rendering the boy useless was his motive.

“I…May have no been entirely honest, when I invited you here” Chris admitted, and Robert delighted in a scandalised gasp, feigning horror. Tom gave a brilliant, dazzling grin, glancing at him in delight before looking back at Chris, curiously. “You are here to perform, I didn’t lie about that. But you will be performing a duet. With Robert”.

Tom looked like he might pass out.

“With…But he’s…And I’m just…”

“Extremely talented” Robert cut in, leaning back on his palms. “And I would be honoured to work alongside you”.

Tom’s breath hitched loudly, and for a brief moment Robert was concerned that he had actually swallowed his tongue. But then he wheezed out a breath and Robert relaxed a fraction, lifting a brow. He was used to the minor freak outs of his colleagues. The panic of working alongside an idol, but.

“Keep going, kiddo. You’re doing wonders for my ego” he purred, and watched how the milky, pale skin went a violent shade of pink. Frankly, the kid was a sin personified. Chris _had_ to know this was a bad idea. Robert had no filter and no shame. He _had_ to know this kid ticked all of his boxes.

Or…Perhaps he did, and this was some kind of cruel and unusual punishment for all the stress. Or perhaps this was the promised revenge for that time Robert was convinced that peppermint would make blowjobs more interesting.

“I don’t understand” the boy whispered after a moment, chewing at his lower lip as he looked between them. Robert wanted to draw him in, to smooth the furrow set between his brows. Chris merely offered one of those soft, open smiles.

“I’d like you and Robert to be the two premier ballerinos of my performance at The Royal House of Dance. If you accept, you will star alongside Robert in _The Love Born of Summer._ You as Peter and Robert as Tony” he explained softly. Tom blew out a deep exhale, eyes still wide. He looked at Robert for a long moment, gaze thoughtful.

“I…I mean, _of course_. Yes. I accept” the boy rushed out after a moment, leaning forwards in his excitement. Chris beamed, clapping his hands in delight and reaching out to slap Robert on the shoulder. He had his star duet. His _beautiful act_.

“Amazing! Right! Well, I have some paperwork that I need to sort out, and I need to confirm your names for the venue and the marketing department, so. I’ll let you two sit for a bit. Have a chat, ask questions, that sort of thing. I’d say we’ll be ready to begin practise say…Friday?” He asked, looking between them as he pushed himself to his feet. For all his height, he unfurled with the same poise as any other dancer.

It was Monday today, which gave them three days to settle. Three days for Tom to get antiquated with the school and with Robert. And for the vice versa, though Robert knew his night would likely be taken up with a generous helping of bourbon and his fist.

Tom bid the man a soft goodbye, still all shy smiles and scrunched up in delight. Robert wanted to squeeze him, but he settled for pushing to his feet, suggesting that they talk whilst they stretch out. He expected the boy to protest, to say he was already warned up. He didn’t.

“Yes, Mr. Downey” the boy murmured obligingly, and shifted to his feet, copying Robert in beginning with a simple set of leg extensions. Loathe as he was to admit it, the words sent a tingle down his spine, and he folded over slowly, touching his palms to the floor in the hopes of hiding his reaction.

“Why do you speak funny?” He asked after a moment, and he could see from the corner of his eye the way the boy startled, looking across at him owlishly.

“…Funny?” The boy repeated in confusion, folding over to match the pose.

“Yeah, like, this kind of funny” Robert replied, mimicking the lilt of his voice, the dip in pronunciation, his nose scrunching. Tom giggled across from him, cheeks blaring pink once more.

“That’s…My voice. I’m not American” Tom responded, his voice pitching into a perfect, northern accent, not unlike Robert’s. The older man snorted in amusement as he straightened, and begun to stretch his arms. He resolutely did not face Tom, but the mirror-lined walls made it hard not to see him at all.

“So you can speak a full sentence” he remarked, and delighted in the way the boy curled in on himself shyly, gaze dropping to the floor. God. _Adorable_.

They talked as they stretched, snippets of conversation and getting to know each other. Tom, as it turned out, was a huge fan of Robert, had been since he was a boy, and he even _apologised_ when Robert quipped about feeling old. He was insufferably sweet.

Chris came back somewhere after an hour, clutching a thin stack of papers in one hand, and a tray of coffee in the other. There was the usual paperwork for now enrolments, and the usual for performances. Safety papers, payment agreements and the like. Robert signed them all with practised ease and an artful flick of his wrist.

Tom read over each sheet carefully, the tip of a tiny, pink tongue caught between his teeth. Chris patiently explained each one, and the process took another hour. By which time Robert was suitably dying of boredom, entertaining himself by prodding Chris now and then.

“Okay. I think I’ve fried your brain enough for today, Tom. You can go ahead and call it quits. I can get this paperwork filed tonight, and you can show up at any time over the next three days. Have a walk around, chat to people, that sort of thing. We’ll begin the real work on Friday, when I’ll introduce you to the performance and my ideas”.

Chris left them from there, parting ways with a firm handshake for Tom and a familiar, tight hug for Robert, leaving the two alone as Tom dipped to one knee, scooping up his hoodie and his phone. Robert lingered for a moment, shuffling where he stood. Tom looked surprised to see him, when he stood, shrugging carefully into his hoodie.

“I’ll be here tomorrow around noon, for practise. If you want a familiar face” Robert offered, extending his hand. Tom looked surprised once more, eyeing his hand carefully before reaching out. In contrast to his, Tom’s hand was tiny. Long, slender fingers, unmarred by callouses. Tom was rather petite in general, Robert noted. Erring more on just under ‘tall’. But he was no more fragile, muscles coiling under his smooth skin.

He had a firm grip, too, and he avoided Robert’s gaze as they shook hands. Robert found it rather endearing, and he left the boy there, spinning on his heel to march steadily out to the parking lot. He needed a drink. And some lube.

Tom found him on the Tuesday. Or rather, Tom did a neat face-plant into his chest, on the Tuesday. Robert had been striding the hallway, heading for his usual studio space when a barrage of red and blue had come from the corner. Robert ha just enough time to lift his phone out of the way, allowing his sternum to take the brunt.

“Oh my _Go_ \- Aw, no. Mr. Downey! I’m so _sorry_!”.

Ah.

“A curious method of greeting people. A British custom, is it?” Robert teased, tucking his phone away as Tom took a step backwards, rubbing at his jaw. The boy huffed a laugh, delicate and high, and Robert took a moment to observe him. He wore royal blue shorts, lined with a bright red. A matching, cropped gym shirt stretched over his chest, though no skin was bared, thanks to the high waist of the shorts.

Tom accompanied him to the studio, tucking up in a corner with his phone and observing as Robert begun to stretch. They talked idly, easily. Tom asked questions about Robert’s career and his ballet past, and in return answered whatever Robert could throw at him, from his preference in herbal teas to his favourite move.

Robert caught the boy staring several times, with a poorly concealed hunger. It was not the same feral expression of lust as most, but a quiet thing. Deep and glittering in those whiskey eyes. Robert was shameless to admit that he stretched for longer than he normally would, folding and bending in exaggerated ways. The boy tracked each movement. It was flattering. Exciting.

“And you’ve no qualms about a romantic performance with a man?” He asked as he dove forwards into a slow handstand. He went into a pointe position and bent one leg steeply, holding his weight. Tom was no less attractive from odd angles, he found.

“I…Should hope not? I mean, it would be rather hypocritical of me, as a gay man, to object to a homosexual romantic performance” Tom pointed out. It was only Robert’s elbows that saved his face from an unfortunate meeting with the floor, and it was his turn to eye the boy in astonishment.

“A valid point” he replied easily, and moved along to question the boy’s preference in music. He couldn’t deny the way his mind whispered, though. Dark and dirty things that he tried hard to ignore, putting extra effort into pushing his body. Contrary to the things his mind brought forwards, he was not a predator. Nor a creep. The boy being gay meant nothing.

Tease though he would, Robert was a man of respect and dignity. He stopped at any sign of discomfort, and his hands never strayed from safe bounds. Close friends excluded, of course. With those and their tolerance of his personality, drink nights oft suffered wandering hands and crude remarks. From all sides.

Tom didn’t ask if it bothered him. He had no need. Robert had been proudly out as a pansexual man since his early days of performing, and had never bothered to hide or diminish his sexuality. He had a preference for men, though his lavish appetite was not limited. He had several remarkable relationships with women in his past, and his love extended to all.

Tom wandered away before Robert begun to dance, reluctantly admitting that he ought to find Chris. He lingered in the doorway, though, half-twisted to watching longingly as Robert settled into his beginning position. Robert met his gaze in the mirror and winked wolfishly, his chuckles drowned by his music as Tom went a fierce shade of red and practically leapt from the room.

Sebastian came strolling in, some three hours later. He carried a takeout bag of food, and a large bottle of water. “There was an honest to God _twink_ in Chris’ office” he announced as he entered, and Robert’s laughter made his landing wonky.

The bag contained a generous helping of beef salad, with a low-fat muffin as dessert, and Robert ate as he listened to Sebastian rave about the tiny, pretty little thing he’d found curled up in Steve’s office chair.

“No boy has any business being that adorable” Sebastian pointed out, and Robert agreed around a hearty mouthful of baked good. They lamented it at some length, comparing poetic on Tom’s eyes and voice and ass before Robert decided practise had been done enough today, and so had gossip.

“Can you even dance with a boner? Is that possible?” Sebastian asked loudly, as they headed for the door, swinging it open to reveal a rather embarrassed and stunned looking Tom on the other side, one hand extended for the door. Robert made no effort to hold back his howl of laughter as Sebastian’s shoulders slumped.


	2. Chapter 2

“Are those… _Leggings_?” Robert asked, coffee cup settling at rest on his bottom lip as he eyed the black, practically sheer-clad legs that stretched for miles before him. Two large, dark eyes squinted pointedly at him from between them, gaze flicking to his own attire. And…”Fair. But spandex keeps everything in place” he pointed out with a wink, sauntering past the folded over figure to dump his stuff down on the small table in the corner. 

“There’s not much there for it to hold” Tom shot back, with all the silken venom of a black widow, and Robert clutched at his heart with a wounded wheeze, though his smirk was reflected back at him in the mirrored walls. They’d only just begun to start dancing together, after a week of general chat and getting to know each other, and Tom had opened up like a spring flower. The kid was sassy and sharp, and managed it all with a sweet smile. 

“Alright, you little asshole. You done warming up?” Robert shot back, with just a touch too much _fond_ to be biting. He’d already been dancing that morning with Chris, so he had no need to warm up bar some gentle stretching to keep the blood flowing, and Tom busies himself with readying the music whilst Robert took to the barrier. It was easy enough to pretend he didn’t see the sneaky glances and the pink cheeks. 

It was even easier to catch Tom’s eye as often as he could and wink lavishly, or exaggerate his stretch. He considered it payback for the sudden onslaught of filthy dreams he was having. The filthy, smutty… _Delicious_ dreams he was having, although they did come with a side of self-hatred and guilt, here and there. 

He lowered his leg and nodded to Tom, who did a fairly awful attempt at pretending he hadn’t been staring, before he hit play on his phone and joined Robert at the centre of the room, settling neatly into an en haut fourth, with their upper bodies bent to the side. When the cue note struck, they begun to move in time, legs sweeping out and trading into a series of peppy, elegant motions.

It was important for them to learn each other’s paces, to learn how they filled space. Robert had been smacked by many an extended arm in his time. They swept he room in curves and circles, operating both alongside each other and around each other. They rose up in unison to _attitude_ , before dipping their bodies low like wilting flowers, arms extending to the sides without hitting, and then they rose back up, twisting to opposite sides. 

“You catch your tongue between your teeth when you focus” Robert noted as they dipped low again before springing up into a graceful twirl. He landed, and became aware that Tom had stopped. When Robert glanced over his shoulder and extended arm, it was to see Tom standing there, looking equally surprised and annoyed, tongue caught between his teeth. Robert laughed and relaxed his stance, shrugging easily. 

“I would not be where I am today if I was blind” he pointed out, walking to Peter’s phone to reset the music. They moved through the sequence again, and again, and a third time. They moved easily with each other, though not perfectly, and Robert was grinning by the time they fell into the final rest, pleased. Tom Holland had not been an unsuitable choice, loathe though Robert was to stroke Chris’ ego. The kid was chatty and energetic, could keep up with Robert, and his dancing…Well. If it made Robert work just that little bit _harder_ so as not to feel outdone, that was neither here nor there. 

They moved through the sequence again, this time with Robert on the left and Tom to his right. Tom moved wider this way, encompassing the open space, kicking his legs out further as he explored the air. It was entertaining, endearing, in a way. They went through it another four times, fluent and easy. They tried it quicker, slower, moving until their breathing was laboured and the faintest sheen of sweat lined their temples. “Why did you accept a position here?” Robert asked between breaths, moving away from Tom and to the table to sip from his water bottle. 

Tom shrugged as he twisted, moving in slow, lazy spins. He let his right leg extend outwards in front of him before he tipped forwards, sweeping it to the side until it bent in an arc behind him. “I wasn’t really told much, when Chris came to talk to me in London. Not much about you, or performing with you, anyway. I was just offered a place here, and the second lead role in a performance” he admitted, allowing his leg to curve back until he stood in pirouette position, and then he begun to spin, dropping here and there to regain momentum. 

“I knew this was the way. To improve, to get my name out there” he added when he fell to rest, and Robert turned away with a soft hum, scrolling briefly through his own phone. The music changed to something peppy, modern but akin to what he might expect at a salsa class, and when he turned, Tom was shimmying his hips, artfully stepping forwards and backwards. It was clear he was just having fun, entertaining himself whilst they took a pause. He shook his head side to side, hips swaying in time to the music, and it took Robert longer than he would care to admit to drag his eyes away. 

“Nice moves, kiddo” he quipped, and Tom snorted softly from behind him. When Robert turned the boy was still shimmying away in neat little steps, grinning at him. When Robert quirked an eyebrow at him Tom suddenly dipped, dropping forwards towards the floor in a rigid position. His body rolled like a wave when he hit the laminate and his entire body twisted with a throw of his leg, writhing him in a graceful arc, a push of hand and knee putting him upright again. 

Robert had no idea exactly what had just been done, but he was impressed regardless, and he gave a short clap, folding his arms and reclining back against the coffee table as Tom suddenly went rather sheepish, head ducking and a hand raising to toy with a dark, silky ringlet. “Breakdancing?” Robert guessed, and Tom nodded with another blinding smile. “How many styles of dance do you know?” Robert asked after a moment, setting his phone back down onto the coffee table. 

Tom gave a one-shouldered shrug and rubbed at his bicep before wandering in loose, slow circles, stretching his arms and legs slightly. “Uh…A few? Ballet, obviously. That’s my main thing…But I learned salsa and tango for a while with my Aunt. I did gymnastics right up until my ballet really took off, and then I kind of didn’t have the time for much else. That’s kind of where the breakdancing came from? Or…I guess how I’m kinda comfortable doing it. I know a lot of modern dance. Kinda, boy-band, pop stuff, I suppose?” Tom continued with a huff, turning back to Robert’s clearly impressed expression. 

“What? Dancing is kind of easy, once you’re used to it” Tom pointed out, and Robert couldn’t argue with that. He knew a little salsa himself, from a few joke classes with Chris. Robert knew he was amazing at ballroom dancing; he’d been doing that almost as long as he’d been dancing ballet. He could do a little tap, and had taken a bare few Irish riverdance classes when he was performing in Dublin in his younger years. Tom had a point; once you learned how to move your body, adjusting that to the various styles was relatively easy. 

“Alright, Mr. Dance Master. Show me what you can do” Robert remarked with a coy smirk, and the practice dissolved into messing around with various dancing styles, making fun of each other’s suave moves and making up their own little mixed style routine. By the end of it Robert’s body felt pleasantly stretched out and his heart thumped within his chest. Tom looked equally exerted, cheeks flushed a little and his hair pushed back from his forehead. They did some cooling down stretched together, paired with idle chat about the performance. Tom didn’t seem to have any qualms about the nature of the piece. 

That was how the following month went. They would meet up once a day, from Monday through to to Friday and they would practice around each other, learning how each man moved and expressed himself. Chris would swing by as often as he could, guiding them and often distracting them from anything entirely productive. 

In the first week of the second month, they met the backing dancers and the production team. Robert had worked with Anthony Mackie before, a cheerful and snarky man who led stage production and prop work. Tom was instantly smitten, laughing and joking with the stage lead. Robert tried to contain the small spark of jealousy that coiled in his gut, reminding himself that they were merely dance partners. He had no right nor had made no advance to Tom, and the boy was free to flirt as he pleased. 

It was a relatively simple performance, focused more on the dancers and their journey than hoards of backing dancers and complicated scene switches. Many of the scenes were based in fields, currently being painted with vibrant flowers and tall grass. Robert supposed that the most complicated part of the performance was the clothing switches. 

Well. Alongside being up close and personal with Tom. Chris really _had_ tweaked it. Even Robert got a little squirmy at how…Intimate and almost lewd the performance had become. “This is basically fucking” he pointed out with a raised eyebrow as Chris folded him over, hand sliding down the thigh of the leg he held straight up in the air. 

“I could change the performance title” Chris mused teasingly, but when Robert looked in the mirror before them to scowl at him, he at least looked a little sheepish. “Okay, good, now you’ll be in front of him when he does this, on one knee. I want you to kind of reach for him, like this?” Chris guides, sinking in front of Robert. If he wasn’t used to the acting part of ballet, it would make him laugh how Chris instantly gave him this soppy, pleading look, reaching tenderly for his jaw. 

Acting both perspectives helped greatly, and was one of Chris’ better teaching methods. Robert grunted in response, tipping forwards just enough to lick a fat, wet stripe between Chris’ eyes. It earned him a disgusted shove, and he went down elegantly, chuckling. 

If he thought Act 4 was sexual, it was nothing compared to Act 6, the final segment. “So its a classy enactment of Dirty Dancing” Robert noted, stepping away from Chris with a sly look. “Pony not giving you a good ride, huh? You always get lewd when you’re blue balled” he grinned wickedly, and was half-prepared for when Chris swept his leg from under him, hooking them together and sweeping him in an arc, catching him by the bicep before he could actually fall. 

“My balls are no bluer than yours are with Tom” Chris snarked back, hauling him up and effortlessly back into the starting position. Robert, never one to be outdone, gave the practise his all, sensually sliding along Chris’ body as he played Tom’s role. He kicked his right leg upright and high, on his toes as he let Chris take his hands and spin him, from one vertical to another in a downward sweet before pulling him back up, hooking his leg over Chris’ hip before he was dipped bodily in a move more like ballroom. It was sensual, steamy, the two of them panting and clinging to each other. 

“Um. I can…Come back?” Was squeaked from the doorway, and Chris dropped Robert in surprise, their heads snapping towards the door. Unfortunately, Robert was still entwined with Chris, and they went down together with a yell. They ended up in some sort of missionary style pose, which only seemed to lend a darker tint to Tom’s cheeks. Robert propped himself on his hips and offered a lazy, brazen smirk. 

“No need. An audience helps my performance” he winked. Chris groaned above him and shoved and his thighs, splaying his legs open like some undignified whore to untangle himself. Robert scoffed but rolled over, stretching luxuriously on the polished wood. “You can stretch, sweetheart. Chris’ rebound isn’t _quite_ what it was in our younger years” he hummed, and ignored the vicious kick that Chris managed to his ankle. 

Tom didn’t seem to know quite how to react to that, shuffling past the half-open door and into the studio. Robert had to put considerate effort into keeping his mouth shut. Tom had opted for thick, slightly baggy leg warmers and a pair of tightly fitted shorts, topped with a loose garment that had once been a shirt, but had been clearly cut to have the slightest of crop, which hinted at a flat stomach and a tiny little navel. 

Even Chris stared longer than he ought to, with a barely concealed hunger to his gaze. Robert pushed himself to his feet with a smirk and rolled his shoulders. “Alright, lets do that again so Holly here can see” he announced, shameless about the glint to his eye as he settled into Act 1′s starting pose. Tom’s nose scrunched at the nickname but he obligingly sat facing them. 

Curiosity faded to wide eyes, flushed cheeks and embarrassed squirming by the time Chris and Robert were done. Tom had been so invested in watching that four minutes in he’d forgotten to keep stretching. Robert tried not to feel smug, shaking out his wife-beater as he headed for some water. He and Tom had yet to really practise any of the actual routine together, bar theory. Part of Robert was thankful. 

“Okay. I want to set for Act 1, Tom, that’s mostly you” Chris instructed, once he’d shaken himself off and presumably reminded himself of the horse dong waiting for him back home. Although theoretically at this moment, Sebastian would be at work. Robert kept himself loose by idly dancing half-assed portions of his various past performances as Tom and Chris worked, careful not to get in their way but haughty and smug when Chris eventually had to lean in, quietly asking Tom to focus on the practise. 

Yeah. He still had it. 

They worked on Act 1 for the rest of the time. Act 1 began with Tom, so Robert busied himself with keeping loose and mocking Chris whenever his back was turned, though he knew fully well the mirrored walls meant the man could see all. They practised a little of Robert’s entry, and the day was done. Truth be told, Robert was thankful. He couldn’t take looking at those slender little legs, the plump ass, the lithe and elegance of his body. His dick ached and he knew it was just the beginning of the next three months. 

“Hey, Rob, you’re still coming this Saturday, yeah?” Chris called as Robert was cooling off and he lifted his head with a nod. As if he would miss the opportunity to get drunk and wail like a baby about how Tom’s ass was giving him a permanent stiffy. “Great. Oh, hey! Tom, you should come too. I know you can’t drink, but I can buy some juice or something for you. It would be nice to hang outside of work”. 

And. 

Damn. 

Because Tom was agreeing with this shy but starstruck look on his face like he was delighted at the fact they wanted him there, and Robert scowled at his ankle. So much for an opportunity to wax lyrical about those thighs, then. Chris left them to scuttle off to his next class, and Robert and Tom found themselves leaving the studio at the same time. 

“You’re okay with me coming?” Tom asked as they walked down the hall, and Robert snorted, rolling his eyes and reaching out to ruffle Tom’s hair, fingers catching in silky ringlets. 

“Duh” He responded, pulling his hand away. His fingers snagged on a tangle, tugging Tom’s head slightly. He went to apologise, but he was cut off by Tom’s breath hitching, by his cheeks going pink and his gaze dropping to the floor. And… _Oh_. Robert couldn’t help a slow smirk. Tom hurried away with a stammered excuse, and Robert sauntered towards his car. 

Wasn’t _that_ an interesting piece of information? 

The rest of the week brought them actually working together on the piece, beginning at Act 1 and Act 2, where their characters met and begun to fall in love. Chris tries his best to wrangle them into working seriously, but more often than not it dissolved into quips and flirting and sarcasm, or random bursts of dance not at all applicable to the performance. 

They spun around each other on their tiptoes, twisting circles that brought them closer and closer until their backs touched, and then Robert stooped, catching Tom by the waist and a thigh in order to dip him sideways and spin him around his body, bringing him back to his feet so they faced each other. “Imagine trying to blow someone like that” Robert whispered as though revealing a conspiracy, and the charged energy of the dance was broken as Tom stepped away, folding over in laughter. 

“Guys” Chris whined from his perch, gesturing at Robert threateningly with the riding crop he’d pilfered from the hidden room. Robert snickered but relented, waltzing back into starting position. He swept his leg back, extended an arm, and settled, waiting for Tom to move as they stood opposite each other. 

The music begun again and Chris begun to tap the count against the table, watching critically as they begun. Tape had been set to mark the few boards that would display flowers of the field they were in, and Tom lifted his head slowly, beginning to dance. Elegant twists and spins, agile little bunny hops that Robert had to fight not to watch his ass during. 

Chris got his one performance. 

In fact, by Saturday, they had largely perfected the two acts, though they had yet to rehearse them with the props and costumes. Chris was besotted with the two of them together, spouting compliments and lyrical that had even Robert tinting at the cheeks a little. “Its a dance, not a porno” he’d muttered, at one of Chris’ pointers to be more sensual. 

The evening rolled around and Robert had spent much of the day slobbing around his house, doing the occasional stretch and generally ignoring every other adult responsibility until it was time to prepare to leave. He tried to convince himself he wasn’t making additional effort - Dressing in casual but fitted clothing, styling his hair, applying aftershave liberally. Except one look at Sebastian’s face when he opened the door told him he was convincing nobody. 

“Come on in, Peacock” Sebastian drawled, nudging the door wider and leaning back to shamelessly and teasingly draw his eyes over Robert’s body. He gave him a half-hearted rude hand gesture and slid past, off-loading his haul of drinks and snacks onto the other man. 

“Shut up, Pony” he shot back, though affectionately as he roamed the hallway, finding Chris sprawled lazily on the couch in the main space, scowling at Netflix. “Your husband is mocking me. Control him” Robert announced in a whine, folding over the edge of the couch and into the space between Chris’ legs. Chris gave a soft sound in response, automatically putting a hand to Robert’s hair as he continued to eyeball the TV. 

“He’s not gonna do anything or I’m not gonna rail his ass into the mattress when you leave” Sebastian informed him smugly from the doorway, to another grunt from Chris as he jabbed at the remote. “Twink is arriving at eight. Try not to fuck him on the couch. We just had it steamed” he added, throwing a lewd wink at Robert as he turned away to get the snacks dished out and the drinks poured. 

“Why wait until I leave?” Robert called back, to Sebastian’s chuckle and Chris’ light swat to his cheek. “So you respond to that” he muttered sullenly, eyes rolling at a soothing tug to his hair. In the time past that, he almost forgot that Tom was coming. Chris eventually figured out how to load up a comedy and Sebastian came back with bowls of snacks and glasses. It wasn’t until the doorbell rang that Robert remembered. 

Chris untangled himself from Robert to answer the door, and he morosely switched to Sebastian, sitting back against his chest with a deep huff. He couldn’t sulk for long, though. Especially not when Tom appeared in the doorway. His curls were soft and swept across in a neat wave. He wore a baggy, lavender sweater that hung over slim hips encased in jeans so slim Robert felt his own thighs tingling. Thick, lavender leg warmers clung from knee to ankle and he clutched a bottle of vodka to his chest with a shy smile. 

“Shortstack here bribed one of the older Ballerinas into buying vodka so he could bring some” Chris announced proudly, as though he’d corrupted the kid into doing it himself. Tom flushed but held the bottle aloft with a serious expression. Robert resisted the urge to dive him and gave an approving nod from where he lay. 

“Way to go, Shortstack” Sebastian cheered mildly from the couch, digging his knee into Robert’s hip. Robert simply twisted with a grin. 

“Say, was that you knee, or the nine inch monster in your pants?” he purred, and protested none when Sebastian used his leg to shove him right down the end of the couch. It meant that Chris filled in the space he left, and that Robert just so happened to end up with a neat little space on his left side for Tom, who picked his way shyly across the room and sank down in the cramped space. The second couch has been conveniently piled with the snacks. 

“Does he really have a nine inch dick?” Tom whispered after a moment, cheeks going a furious red when the three men begun to snicker in unison. That appeared to be the tension-breaker, and two hours later they were all pleasantly tipsy and nose deep in the various bags of snacks. 

Tom smelt like vanilla and bodywash this close, with the tint of vodka on his breath when he twisted to look at Robert in delight, cheeks ruddy. “No way!” He gasped between howls of laughter, and Robert pushed himself up slightly to glower at Chris over the top of Tom’s head. Of course this night would turn into embarrassing him in front of his desire. 

“Oh, please. Chris is only salty that he didn’t get to cum before taking me to A&E” Robert shot back, to which Chris gave a lazy and agreeable smile, tipping back his bottle of Rattlesnake. The film had been nothing back background noise for a while, drowned out entirely by Tom’s giggles as Robert sank back, smiling at him fondly, with an easy shrug. “What’s a sex life without a little mortifying A&E visit?” He announced, sipping his own blend of whiskey and coke. 

Tom, who had opted for drowning his vodkas with orange juice, muffled his laughter into his palm before gathering the courage to risk sipping at it again, having snorted most of his last attempt mid-way through Chris’ story. 

“Besides. Chris says my horror story like he didn’t phone me crying after the first time Pony over there bent him six ways to the next Sunday because he thought his asshole was open like a 24hr McDonalds” Robert smirked around his glass, just to watch the way that Chris went red from his hairline to his collarbone. Sebastian looked nothing but smug, recalling the memory with an obvious complex. 

“Pony?” Tom asked curiously, twisting in his seat to look between Robert and Sebastian. Robert gave a shit-eating grin and leaned back, thighs spreading as he let his gaze rake over Sebastian’s body, before flitting back to Tom. His let a slow, easy smirk take his mouth. 

“Mm. You ever wonder why he never sits with his legs closed, Holland?” Robert purred after a pause, and watched as the realisation that it wasn’t just a joke or a nickname dawned on his face. “His father was a horse and his mother had a cunt like a mineshaft” Robert huffed, taking another long drag of his whiskey. Tom spluttered, and Sebastian shot him the finger with a smile. 

“Leave my Ma outta this, pervert. Besides, its not like you’ve got a cocktail sausage down there, either” he pointed out, and Robert absolutely did _not_ miss the way that Tom’s gaze travelled down the expanse of his torso, settling straight on his crotch. Robert had to concede that Sebastian had a point, though. He was only breaching seven inches, nothing close to the nine that Sebastian packed, but he was a skilled lover. 

“You’re…?” Tom almost whispered into the lull of chuckles that followed Robert’s proud expression, and Robert met his gaze briefly, winking before pushing to his feet to re-fill his glass. To his amusement and surprise, as he reached the kitchen counter and picked up the bottle of vodka Tom had brought, the boy himself appeared at his side, flushed and tentative. 

“Is everyone you know hung, or is it just a dancer thing I missed out on?” Tom murmured, reaching for a bottle of sweet cider on the counter. Robert raised an eyebrow and looked across at the younger man, who shuffled under his gaze. Robert knew from the tight little outfits and the intimacy of their dance that Tom wasn’t exactly a pinky finger down there, but he guessed the boy was about average, if not just an inch bigger. 

“Why? Feeling jealous?” Robert hummed in response, pouring out a measured amount before reaching for the lemonade. He made sure to brush needlessly against Tom as he did so, gaze raking over his lithe form. “I’m sure if you asked sweetly they’d give you a taste”. A little bold. Definitely bolder than he’d ever been. Especially by the way Tom’s eyes widened. 

“Tiny little thing like you, though. Might get split in half” he added wickedly, voice a breathy rasp as he fleetingly reached out, fingertips skimming the line of Tom’s hip through the soft material of his sweater. “You’re flexible. That’ll work in your favour”. He set the lemonade down and screwed the cap on, before casting one last look at Tom. “Chris is a screamer when he cums” he winked, before slipping back to the others with his heart thundering in his ribs. 

Tom didn’t bring it up when he came padding back in, and the sex talk calmed to fond accounts of their friendships over the years, lulling until Robert declared he needed his own bed as Tom begun to list against the couch, eyes drooping. They’d all kept an eye on him, limiting his drinks, but it was clear the boy wasn’t quite used to alcohol. 

They both called themselves an Uber, and elected to wait outside together. Chris pulled Robert into a tight hug, nosing at his temple before whispering _take care of him_ into his ear. Sebastian crushed him into a hug and groped at his crotch with a lewd kissy sound when Robert shouted in mock protest, dragged away by Chris, who bullied his husband into making a start on clearing up. And then they were two, sitting on the porch as they waited for their respectful cars. 

“You should drink a glass of water before you sleep, Holls” Robert coaxed as the sound of an engine came into range. It was Tom’s car first, and like a gentleman, Robert walked him to the vehicle, opening the door for him. Tom was still a blushing, shy mess, and Robert was more than surprised when Tom reached out after a sharp inhale, grasping the front of his jacket and pulling him in for a hug, cheek burrowed down against his chest. The driver cleared his throat after a moment, and Robert ushered him into his seat with a soft smile, before watching the car pull away. 

From there, it was like a door had been unlocked. Robert had only just managed to stagger into his hallways before he was collapsing against the wall, head tossed back and a hand shoved down his jeans, stroking himself to climax with the thoughts of ruddy cheeks and glazed eyes, that pink little mouth. Monday came sooner than he could prepare for, slinking into the studio and chewing over his behaviour that night. And, of course, Tom’s blatant interest in Sebastian. And ergo Chris. An as an extra ergo, _not Robert_. 

Except Tom came flouncing in, perfectly on time as usual, and immediately requested ~~demanded~~ that Robert help him stretch. With a raised eyebrow and poorly concealed surprise, Robert did as told and crossed the room, kneeling on the floor in front of where Tom sat and grasping the insides of his knees, pushing them apart gently. Tom gave a pleased hum and sank slowly backwards until he was laying down, forcing Robert to scoot closer in order to keep a solid grip. 

“How was your hangover?” Robert asked to break the damning silence, his voice scratchy as Tom opened his eyes, smiling up at him as he begun to arch his spine, arms extending. 

“I did as you told me to. Drank a big glass of water. Had to pee at ass o’clock in the morning, but I guess I didn’t feel half as bad as I ought to have when I got up properly” Tom responded sweetly, relaxing and pushing himself up to sitting so suddenly that their heads almost bumped together. Robert leaned back to fight off the urge to tip his head that lone inch, to slot their mouths together like perfect pieces of a puzzle. 

And that was just the beginning. Tom begun to dance with an intensity and sexual prowess that he had apparently been half-assing before, so much so that even Robert was breathless and astounded by the end of the performance, both nervous and half-hard. Tom was like those sexual beings you read about in dramatic novels. The type that had your heart pounding, unable to tear your gaze away, the world shrinking to just them and the sensations they gave you. 

Tom seemed to remember himself afterwards, chest heaving as he clutched at Robert’s shoulders, falling into the rest position of Act 4. His eyes were wide, fixed on Robert’s as they stood together, panting for air, and then Tom pulled away, gaze dropping as he retreated a small distance away to cool off. Robert turned away and copied, leaving the studio at pace to lock himself in Chris’ office, the man away for the day getting their costumes drafted. 

He braced a hand on the desk, folding over himself like he was wounded as he pushed his fingers under the waistband of his workout trousers, wrapping them around his cock and stripping himself. There was too much friction, not enough slide, but the burn that accompanied his orgasm only made it that much more delicious. 

He’d awoken an animal. 

Even Chris looked taken aback on their next rehearsal, coughing in delighted astonishment when they parted, having gone through as much as of the Acts as they had memorised. Somehow, even the sweeter, more story-based scenes had an element of predatory sexualisation to them, and it was all Robert could do in practise not to grasp Tom by the hair, to drag him to the ground, to ravage him. Chris be damned. 

Practises went from lightly stimulating to _torture_. If they’d left him fantasising and half-hard before they left him feeling keyed up and like a live-wire now. Restless and desperate for the taste of skin on his tongue. He lost count of how many times he had to skulk to the bathrooms while Tom cooled off, sinking against the stall walls to soothe some of that burning need. The mirrors that ran the entire span of the room did nothing to help him as they danced, the glimpses of their bodies twisted and writhing together. 

Even Chris pulled him aside after several practises, looking at him curiously. “Did you fuck him?” He asked blatantly, and Robert gave him a helpless look. 

“Would that I could, darling. This is all him. And…Perhaps all the cock talk” he mused, head tilting. “I didn’t fuck him. I walked him to his car, he went home, and now he’s been replaced by some…Some…Incubus. He’s been possessed. That’s the only logical response” he reasoned, to Chris’ snicker. 

“Orrr, he’s comfortable enough around you to really step out of his shell. As a second alternative, that night lit the flame to his sexual boner candle, and you’re the Zippo”. 

It was the worst analogy Robert had ever been witness to. And yet, it gave him hope. 

The performance loomed closer, and Tom’s change in studio persona didn’t relent. Outside of dancing he was still shy, still a little youthful in his awe, but he was more open with touch than before. He grasped Robert’s arm as they walked, or bumped their shoulders as they made idle chat. The differences almost gave Robert whiplash, but he found it as invigorating and challenging as it was curious. 

The first time Robert saw [Tom in his costume](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2F236x%2F96%2F26%2F87%2F96268715f1d739700ce6d7f794b20527--male-ballet-dancers-dance-ballet.jpg&t=YTFmNGZhMGVkODU2NzdhNzc5NDI1YjMwOWM2MDY3ZWE4NTk2MTcwNyxFVVNpSnBocQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AqQXQNqTnOVfD_b0pp7MJJw&p=https%3A%2F%2Fstarkerisendgame.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F189198024665%2Fdance-into-my-heart-p2&m=1), it took very ounce of self-control in his body not to pounce. The boy came padding shyly out of the dressing room, the cut feathers of fabric fluttering around his thighs, the delicate shape of the corset-like bodice cutting his waist. The delicate cream was broken by intricate details of silver and gold, and he did nothing to hide the hunger in his gaze. 

“I look ridiculous. This is a skirt. I look like I belong on Swan Lake” Tom lamented, staring at himself in the mirror. Robert’s hands twitched at his sides, and he tried to speak, but the tailor was ushering him away into his own cubicle, and less than fifteen minutes later he was[ stepping out in costume](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2F474x%2F85%2F94%2F9f%2F85949f3adc0785eb802e77de363fd4fc.jpg&t=MGYxMGE1M2Q5OGQ0OGIyNDYyNzIyZmFkMDcxNmNhYjJiYWQxOGM2OSxFVVNpSnBocQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AqQXQNqTnOVfD_b0pp7MJJw&p=https%3A%2F%2Fstarkerisendgame.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F189198024665%2Fdance-into-my-heart-p2&m=1), too. 

They were as comfortable as they could be, with their stiff design and their structure and their detail. The collar rubbed at his neck if he moved a certain way, but it was bearable. The blue was soft, somewhere between baby blue and powder blue, lined with darker blue detailing and golden trim. He and Tom both wore the same cream pants, slim and tight enough to leave _nothing_ to the imagination. 

Tom was waiting for him, sat with the halo skirt carefully fanned out on his seat. His gaze undeniably sharpened when it focused on Robert, and he almost looked to pout. “You look _good_ ” the boy complained, gesturing petulantly to his own attire. Robert rolled his eyes, running his finger along the inside of his sleeve cuff as he admired his reflection. He _did_ look good. Chris had done yet another masterful job. The detailing was some of the finest Robert had worn, and when Tom rose to stand at his side, they complimented each other perfectly. 

Robert was tall and broad, visible muscle contained in elegance and soft pastels. At his side Tom was smaller, lithe in a way that made him appear slim. His outfit lent him fragility and a mild feminine air that matched that of Robert’s outfit. It reminded him of spring, of flower fields and white clouds. 

“Well, look at us. We’ll be falling in love during summer in no time” he quipped, though it came out softer than intended, and for the longest time they merely stood there, side by side, staring at each other. 

Chris came to see them after a while, eyeing them appreciatively, fondling them up with minor tweaks to the fit of the fabric, and looking a little dewy around the eyes as he snapped a photograph of the two in the final pose of the performance; Tom on the toes of his left foot, dipped down a little by Robert, who cradled him with his arms under Tom’s, running up his spine to rest at the backs of his shoulders, Tom’s right leg hitched at his hip. 

“I’ve got to run to get to the props department, but the studio is free if you guys wanna hit it and d a run-through in your costumes, work them in a little” Chris beamed, checking his watch. He departed with a kiss to their cheeks, and Robert sighed, rolling his shoulders before glancing across at Tom. “What’you say? A quick break in so they’re a little less like morning wood when we wear them next?”

Tom’s laughter was sweet and loud at his side, and they made their way to the studio. Robert felt a little more ridiculous in the face of the surrounding, full-length mirror walls, more so when they begun to stretch, but at least he didn’t have silken fabric fluttering around his legs. Tom seemed constantly distracted by the wisps of cream, frowning each time they fluttered or caught as he moved. 

They both had the soundtrack on their phones, and Robert offered up his once the stretching had finished. They were both too distracted by getting accustomed to the feel and flexibility of their outfits to sink back into the sexual charge of the past warm-ups, with Robert snorting each time Tom slapped at his skirt in annoyance, and Tom shooting him a smug look each time Robert got caught out by the reflection of his jewelled torso in the mirrors. 

“Good to go?” Robert asked, anticipation bleeding into his bones. Tom’s ignited fire hadn’t dimmed at all in the subsequent weeks since that night, though he had joined them for brunches and film nights outside of studio time. Tom nodded as he shook out his arms, moving to the centre of the room with a huff. They had mere weeks until the show. The fluttering nerves of performing had begun to creep up on them both. 

Robert set the music and hurried to stand at first resting position. Most of the first two acts was based on Tom, so Robert merely kept himself warm any time he wasn’t moving. Tom looked even more beautiful dancing in costume, and Robert had to focus hard not to stare too much, not to lose his cues. It was a hard task; Tom looked positively _angelic_ as he twirled and dipped and extended, cast in a glow from the overhead lights. 

Robert took his cue from the music, and their first act together begun. It was even harder to keep his hands professional like this, harder still not to notice the presses of their respective cocks against each other now all that came between them was skin-gripping tights. Tom noticed it too, if the flush of his cheeks was anything to go by, though it didn’t dim the way he danced. 

And…Robert had never been good at controlling himself. Had never been good at behaving if he knew the attraction was reciprocated. He let his hands slide down Tom’s thighs, let his fingers press against his hips, pulled their bodies even closer together than they they usually were. The slide of Tom’s thighs against his own, the nudges of their nips together, the sensation of Tom’s breath at his jaw when they paused. 

Tom’s eyes were fine whiskey up close. Hued with gold and lighter brown. His lips were plus, free of dry skin and a soft pink. There was mint on his breath when he breathed out, leaning in Robert’s hold. And the music kept playing, but they were still just stood there, squeezed together, wrapped in each others’ arms. 

“Are you going to kiss me, or do I have to make the first move?” Tom whispered, and Robert nearly dropped him, blinking. 

“You mean the sudden X rated practices _weren’t_ you making a move?” He asked roughly, and Tom rolled his eyes, dropping his leg to push himself upright, flat against Robert’s body. He didn’t stop there, rising to his toes and lifting his hands to drag Robert’s head down. 

The kiss, as clichè as it sounded, was like a spark. The desperate relief of _finally_ against his mouth. Tom’s lips were soft, plush against his own and Robert let out a soft sigh, pressed forwards and grasping at Tom’s hips. It begun relatively chaste, that initial exploration of just _feeling_ , but Robert had never been a patient man when it came to this, and it wasn’t long before he was pressing his fingers into Tom’s hip, the other hand rising to cup Tom’s jaw, to press his thumb to the crook of it as he parted his mouth and licked at Tom’s bottom lip slowly. 

“You’re gonna have to tell me when to stop” he panted against Tom’s mouth, the only response a high pitched whine from the boy as Robert kissed him again, head tilting so the kiss became a filthy, desperate slide of tongue, Tom grabbing uselessly at his jacket. 

He wasn’t lying. If Tom didn’t stop him, he’d take. He’d take all that Tom would let him. He’d take the breathless whimper as he slid his teeth over Tom’s tongue. He’d take the desperate way Tom shoved his hips forwards. He’d take it all. He’d take Tom. 

“Not gonna stop you” Tom managed against his mouth, before catching Robert’s bottom lip, sucking and biting with enough force to bruise it, dark and swollen. Robert let a hand drop, fingertips digging gently into Tom’s thigh. The implication of those four measly words had him tugging them close enough that their half-hard cocks pressed together, a bare friction that had both of them parting to groan. 

“You should. I’m a greedy lover” Robert breathed into Tom’s jaw, hands finding the small of his back to encourage him to rock forwards. The growing heat of arousal was a delicious simmer beneath his skin, his mind running wild with all the possibilities. “I want to touch you. I want to hear you. I want to make you come apart on me” he added, voice dipping to a growl that Tom keened at, one hand twisting painfully in Robert’s hair to drag him back down for another sloppy kiss. 

“If you don’t fuck me, I’ll be _severely_ disappointed” Tom managed to mewl, head dropping to Robert’s shoulder to catch his breath. Robert couldn’t hold back an amused chuckle, leaning back a fraction to look down at Tom with undeniable fondness. 

“That so?” He asked, and Tom groaned, hand dropping from Robert’s bicep to snake between their hips with a surprising speed, closing over the bulge of Robet’s cock in a way that made him give a surprised, weak moan. Fuck. This kid was gonna kill him. The teasing slide of his fingers, the way his thumb found the rough area of his tip, pressing down. Robert cursed aloud and surged forwards, sweeping Tom’s legs from under him and taking them both to their knees, where he pushed Tom flat on his back. 

“I’ll fuck you” he agreed easily, watching as Tom let his thighs fall open for Robert, ready and eager. He sank into the space between them, rolling his hips down so their stiffness ground together in a delicious but not enough slide. Tom looked gorgeous like this, spread out beneath him, blanketed by his body. Robert ducked down to kiss him gain, deep but sweeter, less feral. 

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart” Robert coaxed after a few moments of just grinding against him, enjoying the sensation of their bodies together. He propped himself up onto his elbows just to look at Tom, at the angelic little baby spread out below him. Tom’s hair was sprawled in messy curls and he looked flushed, delighted, needy. 

“Fuck me. I don’t care how. I just - Fuck. Want you inside me. Wanted it since I first saw you. You’ve been my fucking hero for years. Always thought about meeting you. About fucking you” Tom babbled, voice trailing into a high whine as Robert begun to smirk. Wasn’t that just adorable? 

“Hush, darling. I’ll give you what you want” he soothed, running a hand through those soft, silky ringlets. Tom’s lashes fluttered under the touch and he relaxed a fraction, offering Robert a meek, hazy smile. It was a good look on it, Robert decided. “There’s lube in my bag, darling. I’m just going to go get it” he added, and Tom’s hazy look faded into pointed amusement. 

“Oh, hush. I was carrying lube around long before you started making me hard” Robert huffed, cuffing Tom gently at the head as he pushed himself to his feet. It was an old habit that had never died - And thank God it hadn’t. He might actually explode if he didn’t sink into Tom within the next ten minutes. 

The walk to his bag was torturous. The damned clothes needed to come off, and soon. The lube was only a small tube, 12ml at most, but it would be enough. He turned back to Tom, who had pushed himself up onto his elbows and was gazing at Robert with a look that could only be described as _hungry_. It made Robert’s body ignite, cock twitching in its confines. 

He wasted no time in falling back over Tom, diving down to kiss him hungrily, like Tom was air he was gasping for. He let his hands roam, finally dipping down to palm at Tom’s own straining cock. The boy arched under his touch with the most delicious sound, and Robert tugged impatiently at Tom’s jacket. “Off” he commanded, leaning back to strip at his own. 

Tom’s hands on his wrists paused him in where he had been frantically pawing at the buttons, and the boy pushed himself up into sitting, nudging away his hands and calmly popping each one in succession. Robert wasn’t wearing anything except a plain tank top underneath, the collar of a fake shirt stitched onto the jacket. Tom’s breath came out in a soft exhale when he let his eyes fall to Robert’s chest. 

“Nothing you haven’t seen before” Robert smiled coyly, letting his biceps flex a little as Tom pushed the jacket to the floor, his own half-undone. It took Robert a bare moment to recognise the shape of the fabric, and reached out, plucking at the collar. “A leotard?” He asked bemusedly, lifting a brow. Tom flushed and swat at h hand with a grumble. 

“Easier to move in” he huffed, and Robert gave a light hum, prowling closer to finish off the last of the buttons on Tom’s jacket. They both looked a little ridiculous in their tights, but Robert didn’t mind. They wouldn’t be wearing them for that much longer. Robert lay him out again, pushing gently until Tom was spread out beneath him. 

Tom lifted his hips eagerly when Robert pulled at his waistband, and the sheer fabric came away to reveal the way the leotard cut his hips into an elegant slope, a pale milky-pink against his skin. Beneath it he wore high-cut womens’ style boxers, presumably to keep everything in place. “And you mocked my spandex” Robert hummed slyly, on his chest between Tom’s thighs. The boy groaned and slapped blindly at him. 

“Oh my god. Shut up. I’m not like…Into that or whatever. It just keeps things in place” he complained, high and pouty, and Robert outright laughed, turning his head to kiss the inside of Tom’s thigh. Such an adorable brat. He nipped the soft skin there and crawled up Tom’s body again, arms sliding under him to haul him up, until Robert was sitting back and Tom was cradled in his lap, naked but for the little leotard and boxers. 

“Fuck, sweetheart. Can’t wait to feel you” Robert breathed, arms wrapping around Tom as they ground together. They were both getting needier, rocking faster, pawing at each other in growing desperation. Robert let his nails drag down Tom’s back, watched as the boy arched it, before he raised them again, reaching up to grasp that flimsy little slip of fabric. 

The thought occurred to him that to strip the boy, Tom would have to leave his lap, and that didn’t sit well with him. So he let his fingers catch on the fabric, grasping. It tore easier than he would have expected, parting for him with a _shhhrrrkkktt_ sound that had Tom stilling in his lap, head tipping down to look at Robert with an astounded expression of disbelief. 

“Did you just-?” Tom gasped, and Robert gave him a look that was only a bare fraction guilty, letting his fingertips trail down the bare, soft skin of Tom’s spine. The skin there was warm, as soft as the rest of him, and Robert wanted to kiss his way down it. He slid his hands around Tom’s trim waist, grasped at the edge of the fabric in the crease of his thigh. Tom raised a warning eyebrow. 

“Don’t you dare” Tom breathed, and Robert cocked his head, beginning to ever so slowly pull his hands apart. “No. No! Don’t you-” the edge of the material begun to split, slow and stitch by stitch. 

“Its already broken anyway” Robert pointed out cheekily, before he tore the rest of the material. It split right up to the middle of Tom’s taut little tummy and he stopped there, ducking his head down and leaning Tom back a little to lick the skin there greedily. 

“You’re the worst” Tom groaned, hands burying in Robert’s hair, and he smirked against his skin. 

“Say that again when I’m knuckle deep in you” he hummed. 

Tom couldn’t. Not when the first finger slid in and he was arching upwards on a cry. Not on the second, when he thrashed and writhed and bucked his hips. Not on the third when all he could do was collapse against Robert, panting and begging to be fucked. 

“I’ve got you, baby. You’ll get it” Robert soothed, pushing at Tom gently until he was on his hands and knees, ass high and exposed. He was pink and wet like a girl, and if it wasn’t for the way Robert’s dick dug into his navel, smearing pre-cum in its wake, he’d have eaten the boy out until his thighs shook and all Robert could taste was skin. 

Robert looked up, and was almost startled to find his reflection staring back at him. He looked a little flushed, his hair was messy from Tom’s touch. Robert let his gaze slide down, finding Tom in the mirror. The boy had his head down, braced on his hands. His spine was an obscene curve that presented his ass high. 

And. Wasn’t that an idea? 

“Crawl forwards a little, sweetheart” he encouraged, and Tom looked back at him in bemusement, but complied and shuffled forwards closer to the mirror. Yes. That would do nicely. Robert kneed aside the crap of fabric that had once been a leotard, and pressed forwards, snaking a hand down to stroke himself a few times, firm and enough to reduce the burning need. 

“Robert” the boy whinged, demanding as he shook his ass a little. And wasn’t that a sight that Robert could get used to? He settled his hands on Tom’s hips, gaze drifting upwards to their reflections as he brought a hand back down to his cock. Tom was physically trembling as Robert let the tip of his cock brush at that soft little rosebud, sliding over skin that jumped like it was trying to catch him, to drag him inside. 

“I swear to go-ahhh” Tom’s complaint cut off into a low moan as Robert pressed forwards just a little, just enough that Tom begun to stretch around him, opening up for his length greedily. Robert cursed, fingers digging into Tom’s hips as he pushed forwards, felt the suction of Tom’s wet heat. He only barey remembered to lean forwards, grasping a handful of Tom’s hair and pulling until his head lifted, until the boy was staring at his own wrecked reflection. 

“Look at you, baby. Fucked out and I’m not even inside you yet. Look at yourself” Robert purred, watching Tom’s glassy eyes focusing on himself, the embarrassment that joined the arousal. Tom keened, high and desperate, mouth parted in a perfect little _O_ as he tried to push himself back onto Robert’s cock. He was no longer looking at himself, but Robert. 

Robert watched him closely as he inched his hips forwards, barely containing himself as he sunk further into that welcoming grip, the silken skin. “Fuck” he ground out breathlessly, voice gravelled as he bent over Tom’s body, pressed wet and sloppy kisses to the back of his shoulder as he continued to slide into the hot, slick space. 

Tom was still looking at them, they both were, meeting each others’ eyes in the mirror. “God. I can’t wait to have all kinds of flexible sex with you” Robert grinned wickedly in the mirror, and Tom made a sound between a snicker and a whimper. Robert could imagine it. Could imagine Tom stretched out into a split over his cock. Or folded in half so Robert could reach even deeper inside. 

He was lost in thoughts he hadn’t realised be’d begun to thrust, setting up a steady, pounding pace until Tom begun to stutter over little _uh-uh-uh_ moans, bouncing on his cock. Robert let his eyes focus again, looking at the flush spread over Tom’s cheeks, the way his head had fallen back in a blissed out expression. 

Robert shifted, arms sliding around Tom’s chest to pull him up as he sunk back onto his own haunches, pulling until Tom was knelt upright. It was a little awkward of an angle, but it meant that Tom could see himself, could see the way his thighs were spread open for Robert’s cock, how his own stood pink and desperate at his stomach. 

“God. You look so perfect” Robert groaned, rocking up in a slow, close grind. Tom trembled over his cock, arms behind his back where Robert’s had pulled them, holding him tight. “I told you that you’d come apart on my cock, baby” Robert murmured in his ear, letting go of one arm to reach around, grasping Tom’s pretty little cock and giving it several slow tugs. 

“Rob, fuck. Please, Rob. _Please_ ” Tom begged, head lolling on his shoulder as he rocked his hips, desperately seeking the friction that would bring him over the edge. Robert took pity on him, his other hand moving to grasp Tom’s jaw, to keep his eyes on the mirror as he begun to stroke him firmly, in time to his thrusts. 

“Cum for me, darling. Let me see your face when you cum” Robert coaxed, low and sensual. It didn’t take much more than that for Tom to go collapsing forwards, heavy on his forearms as he cried out. He brought Robert down with him and the jolt of friction had Robert tumbling into climax with him, almost yelling out as Tom’s muscles bore down, squeezed him and milked him for all he had. 

They stayed there for a while, bent over like dogs as they fought for their breath.A knock at the door had Tom jerking with a yelp, arms sliding out from under him so that they both crashed to the floor in an undignified heap. 

“Are you guys done? Chris wants you in the theatre for a prop rehearsal” Seb called through the locked door. There was a brief pause. “Also, if you filmed it, we respectfully request a copy”. 


	3. Moodboards




End file.
